A Little Tinkering
by Demi-Saiyajin Prodigy
Summary: Vegeta's constant demand for repairs on the gravity chamber has prevented Doctor Briefs from working on his favourite projects. Now, Doctor Briefs takes a stand the only way he knows how: with a little technological expertise.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Dragonball Z. It and its characters are property of Akira Toriyama and Bird Studios and were used without prior permission.

**A Little Tinkering**

It might have been a bright and sunny day. Flowers might have been in full bloom, birds might have been chirping happy songs from tree to tree, children might have been laughing and playing in some distant yard. The outside world could well have been ablaze in a splendour never before seen and would never be seen again.

But who had the time to notice silly things like that?

Certainly not Doctor Briefs, who sat perched upon the edge of a dilapidated black swivel chair. Whether or not he realized that was a matter of debate – but not much of it. Were anyone to gain a close look at him, he would see a face quite supremely focused on the cluttered desk. After all, any other matters than the objects on this desk were quite trivial at the moment. Not worth much notice, if indeed any at all.

And Doctor Briefs's hands were as busy as his eyes. They picked up oddly shaped metal parts at random and pushed them together experimentally. Various tiny joints slid into place, and he absently rolled his cigarette over to the other corner of his mouth so that he could observe the construct. Deciding that it looked really neat, but sadly non-functional, he pried the pieces apart.

A loud bang suddenly shook the room. Racks of ancient dusty inventions snapped clean in half, spilling their contents on the floor. Overstuffed file cabinets toppled and vomited paper across the room. And the machine pieces leapt out of his hands while Doctor Briefs himself crashed to the floor, banging his chin on the edge of the desk on his way down.

Rubbing his jaw absently, he sat up and glanced around his laboratory. While it hadn't exactly been the cleanest of places a few moments ago, it was now likely to qualify for a government sanction as a disaster area. He really ought to start thinking about moving his lab into some sort of underground bunker; this kind of thing was happening all too often lately.

They had never had a problem like this before they had taken in their most recent houseguest. Still, Vegeta hadn't exactly had anywhere else to go on Earth and Doctor Briefs always did have a soft spot for strays; the first floor garden of the mansion was a clear testament to that. Any homeless cat, dog, or occasional dinosaur that he happened to come across was treated to quite a nice living arrangement, if he did say so himself.

So of course he hadn't any reservations when Bulma had brought the Saiyajin Prince home one day and invited him to remain there. It wasn't as though they didn't have the room, and considering that Vegeta had no home planet any longer, he was probably a more fitting example of a stray than any of the animals. To refuse would have been greatly against Doctor Briefs's nature.

But sometimes a person could regret being true to his nature, just a bit.

A soft mew drew his attention and he glanced up to see Scratch perched upon his desk in all her tiny feline glory. She really did have quite excellent reflexes and had probably leapt off his shoulder just before he had toppled. At the moment, she looked positively smug, lording her grace over his clumsy display.

"Now, now, Scratch. Not everyone can be as agile as you," Doctor Briefs teased as if speaking to his own child. Well, actually, the jokes didn't go over well with Bulma. The poor girl just didn't have a sense of humour.

For a second, he thought that Scratch had lost her sense of humour as well; her tail straightened behind her and the fur rose on her back. A hiss much like that of acid eating through metal slipped through her teeth.

"What's bothering you?" The question had barely left his lips before he found that he could answer it himself. Footsteps, angry ones, echoed their way toward his laboratory. This wasn't really a rare occurrence; Bulma did have a hair-trigger temper and had often stomped her way down here in a decidedly foul mood to yell at him for one thing or another. It certainly didn't help that their houseguest was possessed of a similar temperament.

And it helped even less that he was the one stomping down here in a rage.

"Old man!" Vegeta shouted with his usual roughness as he appeared in the doorway. And his appearance well matched the tone of his voice. There were numerous small rips in his pants. His boots, normally a pristine white, were stained coal-black. Several bright red patches, obviously burn marks, marred his bare upper torso. And to complete the image, his hair was not in its normal upward sweep; rather, it had parted somehow in the centre, giving him the look of a rabbit that had stuck its paw into an electrical socket.

Doctor Briefs maintained most of his calm as he climbed to his feet. "Well, hello there, Vegeta. What brings you down here today?"

Vegeta's eyes narrowed. "You're just as inane as the woman. You know da—" He abruptly took notice of the fact that Scratch was still hissing at him and he returned the gesture with a glare. Scratch shut up instantly and hopped onto the back of Doctor Briefs's neck, digging her claws into the flesh there as she cautiously peered back. "You know why I'm here. That blasted gravity room of yours has broken down again and those training bots are beyond useless. I advise you to do something about both."

The same old story, one that had been going on over the past six months. Doctor Briefs might have pointed out that the inventions themselves performed their functions just fine and would continue to do so if Vegeta learned how to be a little less destructive. But he didn't. He would rather this not be his last day on Earth.

"You know, Vegeta, you could take a bit of a break . . ." Doctor Briefs halted in this half measure when Vegeta's glare darkened further. Couldn't even handle a simple suggestion, this one.

"I do not need a break, old man! Maybe a human can't stand the rigours of this training, but don't presume to tell me that I can't." The glare melted from Vegeta's face suddenly, replaced by an altogether more chilling expression: a wicked smirk. "Of course, if you would rather this place be destroyed by the jinzouningen in a little over two years, you're welcome to do nothing. I'm sure this would be quite a nice target for them."

How much truth there was to this, Doctor Briefs wasn't sure. They had been warned about these jinzouningen by a young man who had traveled here in a time machine -- in other words, some pretty sophisticated technology. That probably meant that Capsule Corporation still existed in some form in that young man's time.

But there was also the question of which option was safer for the place right now. Vegeta's training held the risk of any random part of the building blowing up, but having him here without the training equipment was not calculated to make the Saiyajin a happy camper.

After a moment, Doctor Briefs gave his reply. "All right, then. I'll just get started on that right now." At least most of the destructive stuff would be localized within the gravity chamber this way.

Vegeta nodded curtly, smug satisfaction in his eyes. "I see you actually do have some common sense somewhere in that addled mind of yours. Wise decision."

With that, Vegeta turned and stalked out of the room.

Doctor Briefs reached up and gently patted Scratch on her back. "You can let go now, little one. He's gone." Scratch dislodged her claws and crawled over to her accustomed place on his shoulder; she hissed at the doorway recently vacated by Vegeta. "I know. But we're stuck with him. Now let's go check things out."

He decided to ignore the pitiful meow of protest as he headed out to the laboratory to see just what kind of mess their houseguest had elected to leave for him in the courtyard.

* * *

It had to be such a backwards little mudball.

Vegeta stalked down the hallways of Capsule Corporation, shooting the occasional sharp look at service robots that made it a point to quickly zip by him. Another example of this stupid planet's lack of decent technology. And to think that this place was supposedly the most advanced technological empire in the world. How he managed to be as tolerant of the place as he was certainly came as a surprise to him.

That gravity chamber, for example. It was useful enough while it was working, but the thing was so fragile that it almost wasn't worth the trouble. There had to be some great cosmic conspiracy at work against him; Kakarott's chamber on the ship he had used to reach Nameksei had obviously sustained function at higher ki levels. Naturally, Vegeta was far beyond that level now, but the number of problems the machine still had was beyond ridiculous.

Yes, the universe was certainly out to get him.

He passed by a room with an open door, but then stopped and went back to it. The aqua haired woman – he absolutely refused to refer to her by name – was leaning over a desk, tapping some sort of writing implement against a large sheet of bluish paper. Her mouth was turned downward, eyes narrowed almost menacingly. It wasn't an uncommon expression for her, in fact; she often had that look when she yelled at him.

With his training for at least the day spoiled, he itched for some conflict. The woman's father was too spineless, and her mother too oblivious. But the woman herself . . . she would join battle.

"Woman, if you're going to stick that behind of yours in the air like that, have the decency to close the door," he said. "Nobody wants to see that monstrosity."

The woman shot up at that, whipping around to face him. Her face was flushed a dark, ugly red, and her jaw twitched in fury. Vegeta smirked at this sight; it was so easy.

"I . . . I . . . You . . ." she sputtered. At an obvious loss for words, the woman did the only thing she could seem to think of doing. She heaved the writing implement at him.

Casually, Vegeta raised one finger and released a thin stream of ki. It contacted the writing implement in the air just before it hit his face, burning it to ash. He did not bother to lower his finger before speaking again. "Is that all it takes to shut you up? I should have said that ages ago. It would have saved me a great deal of trouble."

"Look, you egomaniacal creep!" the woman snapped, evidently having found something she could say, after all. "I wasn't the one who started all this; you just came and interrupted me. Besides, who're you to be talking about how _I_ look? You could probably break any mirror you looked into without even using your powers!"

Ah, now this was entertaining. "Who better to tell me that than one who obviously has experience in such a situation?"

The woman seemed at a loss again; she merely growled at him, face turning even redder. Vegeta had not expected that to be possible. Well, there was something new to learn every day – even without a gravity chamber or a proper fighting partner.

Without another word, the woman stomped forward, her eyes locked with his. "Well, how about I just bow to your wishes then?" Her hand lifted, and Vegeta suppressed a chuckle. Did the feeble creature intend to strike him? That would certainly make the little encounter worthwhile.

But it seemed that the woman actually was possessed of a modicum of intelligence. Instead of taking a swing a him, she merely flung the door shut, so hard that it rattled in the frame. Had she been someone of any discernible strength, then it would certainly have fallen off its hinges.

"Is this more to your liking, Your Majesty?" she snarled through the closed portal.

"I see you're learning more proper terms of address," he said. "I suppose I will have to take what I can get and leave it at that."

He was rewarded with a frustrated growl from the other side of the door. Mildly satisfied, he strolled away from the room. Nothing was as important or as entertaining as his training, but tormenting the woman was an amusing enough sidebar.

There was the possibility, far, far in the back of his mind that he could work Kakarrott up into a battle. Nobody else on this pathetic rock was anywhere near worth his time Admittedly, the thought was tempting, but he did not give in to the allure. There were certain facts that he had to face.

By training with Kakarrott, he would be showing his hand. He would reveal all of his capabilities, and more importantly, all of his incapabilities. Once this ridiculous jinzouningen problem was dealt with, he would have his battle with Kakarrott. And this one would end correctly, damn it.

So in the end, training on his own was better, frequently disturbed as it was. He didn't need anyone, anyway. And in a couple of years time, all of these earthlings would see it.

Yes, even Kakarrott.

* * *

"Wow." 

The word was spoken without inflection, without the awe that one would ascribe to it. There really wasn't any room for expression here – just room for a giant globe with most of one wall punched out, the edges of the hole melted smooth. Well, that, and the small old man standing in front of it with a tiny black cat curled around his shoulders. But nothing else.

Doctor Briefs sighed. Quite a fine mess, this one. He had been hoping in the back of his mind that the damage would not be all that bad. Something that could be repaired in a night or two. This particular disaster, however, was likely to keep him busy for a week. Of course, this was just the gravity chamber itself. He still needed to go inside to examine whatever was left of the training bots.

Things were not looking up.

"Well, come along, Scratch. No time like the present."

Scratch mewed pitifully, obviously wanting nothing to do with such an action. But she had always been unusually devoted for a cat, and did not move from the perch of his shoulders as he strolled into the gravity chamber. Through the hole in the wall.

To Doctor Briefs's relief, the actual gravity console seemed to be largely undamaged. Or at least intact. Sometimes, he had found, ki didn't damage electronics from the outside so much as the inside. He would have to take a look at that.

Kneeling before the console, he dug his favourite flashlight out of his lab coat pocket and flicked on the switch. He easily pried off a circuit cover and shone the light into the delicate framework underneath. Pieces of melted wire caught his attention, as did burnt out circuits. He hadn't actually needed the flashlight to figure out the second one; he could pick up the faint odour of smoke as soon as he had removed the cover.

"Not too bad here, actually," he said. Scratch mewled her agreement. It was nice to have such a sympathetic voice to his ramblings, one that understood them. His wife didn't always get it, and though Bulma understood the ramblings just fine, sympathy had never been one of her strong points.

Scratch leapt off his shoulder, landing lightly upon the floor. Doctor Briefs watched as she circled the console, no doubt conducting her own examination. Sometimes, he wished that he had a more effective way of communicating with the little cat, some way of actually deciphering what she was saying. He would gladly welcome another expert opinion around the house and around the company.

Such a device could be quite useful, in fact. What an absolutely marvellous idea! He would have to get started on that right away. Or, when he was done with the gravity chamber. For now. Vegeta seemed to find a new way to demolish it every couple of weeks. The man got points for creativity, Doctor Briefs would give him that much.

An annoyed meow drew his attention back to the present. Doctor Briefs climbed to his feet – a task getting slightly more difficult year after year; all that time bending in awkward positions to construct his inventions had taken a toll on his body -- and jogged over to where he had heard the sound emanate from. He drew in his breath at the sight.

Not at the sight of Scratch, who was now sitting comfortably on the floor, one paw raised as she cleaned it. That was fine. What wasn't fine was the mass of artificial body parts strewn over half the room. Every training bot that he had painstakingly constructed was nothing more that piecemeal. Upon closer examination, he found that the destruction was not random or haphazard. No, this had been precise work, all cuts along the seams where the metal had been joined.

It seemed that ki was more than just a tool to blow things to bits; it also had the precision of a laser cut. How about that? Such a thing could certainly be useful, to have something more intelligent than a machine handling the delicate bits. Ki users were fast, too, from what he knew. There was a lot of value in this little discovery.

Unfortunately, he doubted that he could convince Vegeta to do anything in the way of robotic construction. While he seemed to have a slightly more than rudimentary knowledge of the technical world, building things hardly seemed like his area of expertise.

Doctor Briefs glanced about him, at the half destroyed controls, mangled robots, and freshly exploded doorway he had used to get in here in the first place. Nope, construction was definitely not Vegeta's forte. Pity. Though perhaps some of Bulma's other friends would be amenable to the idea. Next time he saw one of them, he ought to ask.

So many projects, so little time. Especially now.

"Quite a mess he's left us this time, isn't it, Scratch? But we might as well get started on the problem as long as we're here."

Doctor Briefs reached into his other lab coat pocket to pull out a capsule, and pressed the plunger.

* * *

She hopped back at the cloud of yellow smoke that suddenly billowed into existence. Oh, how she hated those infernal capsules; they just caused the most horrible fuss that if they weren't what paid for her gourmet cat food and private wing of the mansion, she would have loaded them into a pit and fired upon them repeatedly with a grenade launcher. The things she put up with for such basic necessities. Honestly. 

Delicately, she lifted a paw to her mouth and wet it with her tongue. Then she ducked her head and ran the paw over her neck, trying to smooth down her fur. Whether they paid the bills or not, she would never get used to the sound nor the smoke.

Oh. A storage bin this time, a rather large one. Really, why did he even put such boring things into those awful capsules? Waste of resources, if you asked her. Not that anyone did; most people didn't seem to think that cats offered sound advice.

Still, she leapt onto the top edge of the bin to observe what was happening.

"Mreow!"

She sprung back to the safety of the floor as a heavy metallic arm flew her way. The arm crashed noisily into the bin in a mockery of her display of agility. Good grief, he had to be just tossing them in there! Heaven forbid he set the pieces in there more gently.

"Oops! I'm sorry, Scratch; I didn't see you sitting up there." And that was it; he went back to tossing metal limbs.

Scratch hissed at him, but without malice. No matter how annoying he got sometimes, she could not hate the person who had saved her from either a life on disgusting city streets, or eventually being euthanized at an animal shelter after nobody wanted to take in a scraggly mess. Oh, yes, she'd heard about that last one from other street cats. Not a pleasant fate, not at all.

Besides, there was something else . . .

On impulse, she got up and braved the crashing sounds above her to comfort her old friend. She rubbed herself in circles around his ankle, purring loudly. He hadn't been quite himself since the loud man had come to stay with them; he didn't have time to work on his own inventions anymore, the things that brought him the greatest joy. She hated to see the one that had rescued her being so unhappy.

It wasn't as though he were the only one around here who was able to fix this thing. Why couldn't he get his daughter to do it? She was almost as good with machinery as he was, and as far as Scratch could tell, had quite a bit more free time on her hands.

"Got to give him some credit, though. You'd never think a person would have done such precise cuts along the seams."

Oh, yes. The loud man – she knew his name, but the descriptive term fit him so much better. He was the reason. Whenever something broke, he would storm down and demand that her friend fix it. The whole mess was entirely his fault.

At one point, Scratch had entertained the idea of leaping onto his face and clawing his narrow little eyes out. But she had seen the kind of things that the loud man was capable of – her surroundings were a perfect example – and immediately thought better of that notion. She was rather fond of life.

Still, this was getting to be too much. How much longer was she going to have to watch that inventive spark light up in her friend's eyes only to have it doused shortly afterward? How much longer was she going to have to put up with nobody doing anything about it?

No longer, she decided in that moment. She was going to do something. A plan crystallized in her head, and all she needed to do was share it. After all, she had certain physical limitations that would prevent her from working the plan on her own. But her friend was very well equipped in that area.

Carefully, she dug her claws into his pant leg and began to scale the length of his body. Her friend didn't seem to notice and kept bending down, then rising and swinging his torso as he continued to load things into the bin. This nearly caused her to lose her grip on his lab coat at one point, but she braced herself properly and continued without hesitation.

She cuddled up at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, as was her accustomed position. She purred as he stopped in his action momentarily to scratch her behind her ear, but then brought herself back to reality. There was a job to be done.

Scratch began meowing softly into her friend's ear, hoping to convey what she wanted.

"What is it you'd like, little one? I'm afraid I'm a little bit busy at the moment."

Oh, heavens! Such was the curse of being scarcely sub-sentient. While she was capable of complex thought, Scratch lacked the proper musculature and vocal capabilities to express herself to humans. It was rather infuriating actually, to be treated as a common housecat, one that only thought as far as where it was going to have its next nap. Her friend understood her better than most, but trying to explain high minded concepts to him had always been an exercise in futility.

Scratch sighed and tried again. And then tried again when that attempt failed. Her ears drooped; clearly, this was going to be a long night.

* * *

Vegeta stood at the door to the gravity chamber, arms folded, index finger tapping a bicep. It had been nearly two weeks since he had been able to undergo any proper training, and the final few minutes, he was finding, were the most frustrating ones of all. 

At this moment, the old man was puttering about inside, doing a final check on the gravity console. Why this was taking so long, Vegeta could not have guessed; he had more technical knowledge than most of the earthlings that he knew, but if he had been any kind of mechanic he would have just repaired the damn thing himself.

In fact, he hadn't even wanted to stay at the Capsule Corporation mansion in the first place. The earthlings were supposed to be the enemy again once Frieza was gone, and he had treated them that way for a while. Well, he still treated them that way, but at a less tangible level.

And most of the earthlings probably trusted him as much as they trusted these jinzouningen that were supposedly going to show up in the future. They were likely preparing to face him as well. At this, Vegeta smiled. Perhaps they were a tiny bit brighter than he had given them credit for. Even idiots could have moments of rudimentary intelligence. Kakarrott was a fine example of that.

Nevertheless, the fact remained that he could not improve himself out on his own in this world. He just didn't have the proper facilities elsewhere to do what needed to be done. So he had put up with the mansion, annoying occupants and all.

Especially the woman. She had allowed herself to be dragged into another argument yesterday – such a stupid thing, couldn't see that he had been baiting her. On this particular occasion, she had attempted to cook breakfast and had failed spectacularly. Did she really expect him to say nothing about the toxic substances that she had tried to feed him? The dispute had ended with her smashing some acidic fruit in his face and threatening him with reprisal.

As if he had anything to worry about.

"What the hell is taking so long in there?" The waiting was driving him to madness.

While the old man flinched at the volume of his voice, when he turned to reply his face was utterly devoid of fear. "Now, now. Got to make sure everything is optimal. If I don't you'll just break it again sooner and lose out on more valuable time."

Vegeta growled, but accepted the answer. Since when did these earthlings actually start making sense? Perhaps they weren't. Perhaps something in the air was eating away at his sanity, as it had done to every blasted creature on the planet. From his experiences with human culture, he wondered how the species had even survived, much less spread across the world.

The old man stood at last, marked something on a clipboard that he had constantly been checking. "There, that seems to be everything. Should run like a dream now."

"Finally." He hated dealing with this old sack of flesh. "Now get out."

Again unintimidated, the old man waved to him as he edged his way through the door. And the stupid cat that constantly rested on his shoulder hissed at him. Idiot beast. Vegeta considered just incinerating the little thing, but that would have been a nonsensical waste of time.

He flipped the door switch before the old man was completely down the steps, and did manage a bit of childish pleasure as the old man yelped and tumbled to the ground. He chuckled a bit as the door finally echoed shut.

No more wasted time now. Without hesitation, he stepped over to the gravity console and activated the controls.

* * *

Doctor Briefs picked himself off the ground, dusted his clothes off. That really hadn't been very polite of Vegeta, to close the door like that. Which meant of course that the behaviour was utterly normal. 

"You all right there, Scratch?"

The little black cat had not left his shoulder as he had fallen, merely dug her claws into his flesh to keep from losing her position. He supposed that she was just especially comfortable up there today. When he glanced back to check her condition, he was rewarded with unusually bright eyes and a chipper meow.

She had been in a rather good mood since they had finished cleaning up the remains of the training bots a couple of weeks ago. Perhaps because he had actually consented to a certain plan that was about to be put into motion.

Even at this moment, Doctor Briefs was not sure whether he had come up with the plan himself, or whether it had been Scratch's idea. Either way, his furry little friend was very much in favour of the idea, encouraging him to keep at it every time he questioned his sanity. Which was something that he never really did that much; before now, the idea had never occurred to him.

Ah, well. He supposed he would see once it was over. Assuming he was still alive.

"Come along then, little friend. I don't think we're going to want to be here once things get started."

He could have sworn that Scratch mewed wickedly as they headed back into his laboratory. But it was probably just his imagination.

* * *

The intoxicating weight striving against his muscles. The screams of the air as he sliced through it, heedless of that extra weight, revelling in it. The hums of the training droids as they tried and failed to tag him with their lightning quick laser attachments. His ki roared through the air, forced down by the extra gravity – but he had intended that one. Any good warrior knew how to use the atmospheric conditions to his advantage, and he wasn't just any good warrior. He was the best. Or he soon would be, at the very least. 

The pressured ki blast struck a training droid dead centre, detonating it into a controlled cloud of smoke and ash. While the scent of seared metal could never be as delicious as that of seared flesh, it did have a certain charm.

Vegeta charged up a more powerful ki blast, arms straining against this one. The ball in front of his hands alternately expanded and contracted, an unstable mass of bluish light. Sweat poured onto his brow as he ordered his body to continually dodge the laser beams that took aim at him every second. He had to be able to manoeuvre while still gathering his ki. It was an almost sure way to catch the enemy off guard should he gain the upper hand.

At last, he managed to push the ki ball away from his hands, diving out of the way of a series of laser blasts just after the release. The ki ball whipped in circles around the domed ceiling, managing to fight the gravity far longer than did its previous counterpart.

Unfortunately, this shot was not proving to be as accurate as the last; it whizzed by multiple training droids, their systems kicking them into dodging mode at an unusually high speed. Hm. Perhaps the old man had managed to make a few improvements this time around; the droids seemed more responsive. This was a good thing, though they most certainly did not make up for a breathing, thinking opponent.

His eyes widened as he caught sight of the ki ball hurtling toward his face. Instinctively, Vegeta extended both palms, wrapping a thick ki shield around them. The two forces met, straining against each other for dominance. Fighting the painful flashes of light in his eyes, he packed more ki into the invisible shield around his hands.

Fingers burning, insides of gloves heating up . . . Flashes getting brighter, brighter until . . .

"Raugh!" Vegeta flared his ki, detonating the ball.

The force flung him backward, carried him on an unseen shockwave. Sensing that he was fast approaching the wall, Vegeta erected a thin ki shield around his entire body to soften the impact; he didn't have enough control of his body yet to reverse his momentum.

Even with his patented protective ki-coating, he couldn't suppress a grunt of pain as the wall partially gave way against his back. He hung there for a second, panting, before prying himself out of the depression. Turning back to examine his landing site, he frowned irritably. Metal was so fragile; even his hair had contributed to the dent, giving the impression that his head was shaped like a blowtorch. Honestly, how far behind the Greater Galactic Empire were the earthlings in metallurgy, anyway?

But really, he shouldn't have been surprised. He didn't know why he always was, actually. This planet was such a consistent disappointment that he should have been able to take these things in stride by now.

With an annoyed sigh, he turned his attention back to the interior of the chamber. Somehow, all of the remaining training droids had survived the blast, though most were noticeably damaged, with dark spots on their normally shiny hulls, or freed wires that sparked every second or two. They still turned lasers on him in spite of the damage, so it couldn't have been too severe.

Nevertheless, the challenge was waning. Vegeta had started by taking it slow, setting the machine to the somewhat higher than comfortable two hundred times Earth gravity, just to see if the chamber would tolerate the pressure. He knew enough about machinery to realize it was foolish idea to rev something up to full power when it was brand new or freshly repaired. But now that the machine had proven sturdy enough to handle a proper session, it was time to up the ante.

Vegeta ignored the lasers this time; while they left tiny burn marks on his skin, they didn't particularly hurt. Really, he dodged them more to practice his agility than anything else. He tapped a few buttons on the console, indicating that he wished to up the pressure to factor two hundred and fifty of the planet's gravity. The screen beeped almost merrily and began to make the requested adjustment.

Vegeta flopped face first onto the ground.

Damn it, he thought he would have been better prepared for the increase in pressure. He flattened his palms against the floor, struggled with all his strength to push himself to his feet. As he did so, he happened to glance up at the digital readout of the gravity level in the room. He dropped back to the floor on surprise alone.

"The hell?"

The display had read three hundred times gravity. Now, he knew that he had not pressed anything wrong. He had spent so much time in here that he could have operated the controls in his sleep and not messed anything up. Something was wrong, here.

Gritting his teeth, Vegeta focused more strength into his arms, this time making it to his knees before the next unexpected thing happened.

"Waugh!" He rocketed straight up into the air, slamming into the ceiling with tremendous force. The metal creaked agonizingly against his back, and for a second, he was certain that he would go flying right through. But the room held firm somehow. Limp from bafflement, Vegeta felt his body slip from its top of the room position to thud softly to the floor.

He got up easily, and in an attempt to discover what had happened, glanced at the digital gravity readout yet again. His brows lowered. Factor thirty now? He hadn't even adjusted the controls this time. What in the hell was –

He didn't have time to complete the thought before the gravity switched back to high grade. This time, he hit his chin on the console on the way down, feeling the telltale press of a button underneath the bone.

Instantly, the room flickered in multiple colours of light, ranging from tolerable ones like a deep blue, to the outright ghastliness of pale green and pink. But even this was not the worst of the whole mess.

For the first time in his life, Vegeta wished that he had not been blessed with such good hearing. A short, jaunty, high pitched tune emanated from somewhere in the room. The music sounded very much like the intolerable tones he had heard once, quite a distance from the mansion. He had asked the woman who dared broadcast such an auditory travesty, and she had mentioned that it was a "fair" that had visited the city. It was, as he understood it, analogous to this human concept of amusement parks.

Yet again as he struggled to rise, the gravity switched back to lightweight. But he was ready for it this time; he reversed his momentum and sent himself back to the floor on his own terms. He had, however, forgotten about the training bots in the midst of all this insanity.

The sound had been faint at first, mostly drowned out by the vile music, but Vegeta had heard it. That was the hum of the training bots behind him preparing to fire. He turned to face them, and gave his best mighty yell of frustration.

And yet more colours exploded around him.

* * *

"Now what project do you think we should work on today, little one?" Doctor Briefs smiled down at Scratch, who was comfortably perched on his shoulder as per usual. He waved his hand at the various hastily sketched blueprints spread across the table. "How would you like to do the honours and pick one for us?" 

Scratch nuzzled his neck for a second before hopping down onto the table. With an expert eye, she examined each blueprint as she walked over it. And every once in a while, she would give a quiet mew of interest, or a loud meow of shock. Just like the good old days.

There was a sudden, far away yelling sound. Startled, Doctor Briefs turned to face the direction from which the sound had come. Now what was that all about?

Another yell cut through the air, jolting his memory. Oh, yes. Vegeta must have discovered the little surprise that he and Scratch had whipped up for him. Everything was proceeding as normal, then.

He smiled down at Scratch, who now sat upon one of the blueprints, pawing excitedly at the design. "Ah, the jet powered vacuum cleaner! A perfectly wonderful choice, little friend. Let's hop to it."

He dove into his work, and only occasionally paused to wonder how Vegeta was doing in his own personal, self-contained amusement park.

* * *

"Gah!" 

Yet another of the damned training droids fired that disgusting mass of colourful paper squares at him. However annoying it was to dodge something so harmless, he did so; he was not going to end up more covered in the stuff than he already was. A warrior of his stature covered from head to foot in coloured paper; it was a mockery.

He would have destroyed all of the training bots by now, but the gravity kept fluctuating wildly, causing both physical and ki attacks to go awry at exactly the wrong moment. Thus there were many holes through the walls and ceiling and countless scorch marks on the floor. Only a few of the bots themselves lay strewn across the room. Or they would have lain there had he not burned them to ash in a fit of rage.

With the gravity fluctuations, flashing carnival lights, and utterly ear-splitting music, Vegeta could practically feel the sanity leaking out of him through every bodily opening. And as he dodged yet another mass of coloured paper, a suspicion crystallized in his head. This was not some malfunction. No, this disaster had been planned.

He launched a fist forward, and this time managed to connect with the training droid. With satisfaction, he felt the metal crack under the force of his fist and smiled grimly for a second before the thing exploded in his face, showering him with the very substance he had been taking great care to avoid.

Vegeta growled as he moved on to the next droid – and caught himself as his body suddenly lightened. No trip to the ceiling here, just an ascent of three feet. The old man. This had to have been his doing. Oh, when he got out of here, he would . . .

He hit the mark again, firing a ki blast dead centre into a training droid. And this time, he didn't have to worry about getting sprayed with the paper, as he was too far away. He lifted his hand to fire another . . .

And slammed down into the floor harder than anytime previous, making a dent in the floor in a perfect complement to the one he had already engraved into the ceiling. With great effort, he flipped himself onto his back only to find four training droids floating above him, barrels pointed and ready to fire.

The paper sprayed into his face, and even managed to get into his mouth, allowing only garbled shouts to make it through. Which was unfortunate, for he had a very impressive string of profanity he would have dearly loved to hurl at this damned room and all its tortuous devices.

No, this was too vile to be the old man's plot. The man was a spineless twit, easily cowed and even more naïve than Kakarrott if that were even possible. He would never have done this, for he would rightly have to fear for his life. While the old man might not have impressed Vegeta with his deductive abilities, even he was not suicidal.

The droids finally let up a bit, and Vegeta sprang out of range, coughing out all of the paper that had made it down his throat. Only one person had the motive, ability, and the outright idiotic nerve to do this to him.

It was the woman's fault. She had sworn vengeance upon him and here it was. Damn it, he should have seen this coming. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of his misery any longer. No woman taunted the Saiyajin no Ouji.

Vegeta bowed his head, closed his eyes. He willed himself to ignore all distractions save the imperative one of being prepared for gravity shifts The warm sensation of his ki flooded through him, and he could feel it sparking even outside his body. No doubt clashing badly with all of the flashing lights – which was more the reason for his closed eyes than focus was.

There was a gravity shift; he adjusted to it almost instantaneously, only losing about an inch in altitude. Nothing was going to stop him now; this whole insane escapade was going to end.

Vegeta opened his eyes, bared his teeth. "Lights out for the carnival."

And he released his ki.

* * *

Bulma bent to pick up the capsule that seconds ago had been her car, and tumbled to the ground as an explosion rocked the compound. Her hands burned as they scraped against concrete, and she felt a few things shatter in the shopping bags that she had slung over each arm. 

With some effort, she pushed herself to her knees. She grimly took stock of the scene around her, frown deepening as she spied the broken shards scattered before her. Wonderful. Those crystal statuettes had cost a lot of money, and they were completely destroyed less than three minutes after she got home. And the very obvious cause of their destruction meant that her insurance was not going to cover their loss.

She glared over at the courtyard which housed the gravity chamber. Not surprising that there was smoke billowing up from that end of the yard, considering the force of the explosion. Why couldn't Vegeta have waited until she had gotten into the house to go on a rampage and blow up the gravity chamber? Again?

Well, she wasn't going to stand for it. Bulma lifted her chin, squared her shoulders, and marched over to the smoking courtyard. The constant arguing with Vegeta had made her so stressed out that she had needed to go on an extravagant shopping spree in order to calm her nerves. And when she was finally feeling better and arriving home, he had to go and ruin her good mood again. He was really going to hear it this time.

When she reached the courtyard, she found the gravity chamber only half standing. And that half was still full of holes and scorch marks, giving the impression of burnt swiss cheese. Pieces of the walls and various other structural components were scattered all over the yard, a few of them embedded into the walls of the house.

At the centre of this mess stood Vegeta, messy, wild eyed but smiling in satisfaction. His arms were splayed out, chest heaving as he drew breath. What on Earth did have to be so happy about?

"Vegeta!"

He looked up at her shout, the smile slowly melting into an infuriated frown. Vegeta lowered his arms, and his jaw twitched, just slightly. "You! You have the gall to come and scream at me after you did this?"

Bulma blinked, then narrowed her eyes, placed her hands on her hips. The shopping bags she still carried slid down to her wrists. "Me? Do you see me standing in the middle of a flaming wreckage looking like a live turkey shoved into an oven? You're the one who did this!"

"You set this up, woman!" Vegeta thrust an accusing finger at her. "This was your feeble attempt at vengeance. Did you really think that you would succeed at driving me insane?"

"Oh, I think somebody beat me to that one!"

She took a step back as Vegeta stalked toward her, arms swinging back and forth in a way that promised a great deal of pain. What had gotten him so upset, she didn't know, but it looked like he was intending to make her pay for it.

"Just keep on talking, woman," Vegeta said, voice barely more than a growl. "You were stupid enough to tamper with the gravity machine, so you're clearly stupid enough to make your fate even worse."

Bulma bit back a scathing reply, the oft ignored filters from her brain to her mouth kicking in for once. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but notice that Vegeta was covered head to foot in something odd. Her filter switched off for a second. "Is that confetti?"

The corner of one of Vegeta's eyes twitched. "You know damn well what it is. Stop trying to play the fool; you are deceiving no one despite your unique suitability for the role."

Bulma's filter remained in the off position. "Between the two of us, I'm the fool? If I were you, I'd take a look in the mirror, mister carnival freak show, and then try saying that to me again."

Gloved fists trembled with unaccustomed restraint. "You," Vegeta said at last, lifting a finger to point at the wreckage behind him, "are going to fix that. Undo every sick minded modification you made. If you try anything else, you are going to wish you suffered the same fate as that abomination."

Before Bulma could work out a reply, Vegeta stormed past her. She glanced back at him, then toward the remains of the gravity chamber. That much work would take at least . . .

"Hey!" she shouted to Vegeta's retreating back. "What do you mean that I've got to fix this?"

Vegeta disappeared into the mansion.

* * *

"So what do you think? If we put this here . . ." Doctor Briefs screwed on the new circuit board, which he had just whipped up in the past couple of hours. It was fun to be able to work on his own projects again. He had almost forgotten what that was like. 

Scratch lifted her head from the floor, giving him a sleepy yet content look. Then she yawned, stretched, and huddled up into a little ball. Obviously, she didn't find this particular project all that interesting. Strange, seeing as she had been the one to pick it out in the first place. Ah, well. Cats were capricious little creatures and changed their minds more often than an obsessive compulsive person might change his underwear. Though Scratch was less moody than most cats he had met, she still had her moments.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, harsh and angry. Before he could suppress it, Doctor Briefs gulped. Oh, dear. Vegeta would have been experiencing his little surprise for a while now, and if all had gone according to plan, he would not be happy. Why did he even do that again?

"Dad!"

Doctor Briefs collapsed in relief when he heard Bulma's voice. Well, this shouldn't be any worse than the standard fare, whatever she was upset about this time. He could never quite tell with her; she tended to get irrational about the smallest of things.

Bulma appeared in the doorway, arms folded and expression decidedly dark. "What the hell has been going on here? Vegeta nearly ripped into me, claiming that I tampered with the gravity machine! You wouldn't have any idea why that would be, do you?"

Doctor Briefs opened his mouth to answer, but Scratch gave him a soft meow of warning. The gist of the sound, as far as he could tell, was to not let Bulma in on what had been happening. It actually wasn't bad logic; Bulma was upset enough as it was. Absolutely no reason to make her feel any worse than she already did.

So he tried a different tack. "Well, I expect that all that training he does leaves him rather stressed. Too much physical activity without a break can make your mind go funny if you're not careful. He probably imagined something and blamed whoever was closest to him."

Bulma sighed angrily. "He should think before he opens his mouth, then. That deluded little freak actually ordered – _ordered_ – me to fix it!" She threw her hands up in the air. "Honestly! Like I've got nothing better to do in my life than be his personal servant! And fixing that thing is your job; you're the one who invented it in the first place."

"That may be true," Doctor Briefs said, turning back to his project. Now where had he left that screwdriver? "But you're the one he asked. I wouldn't want to risk being on the wrong end of his temper by violating that order. I admire your bravery in that area, Bulma, but it's just not in me. I don't want to get involved in this."

"So you're not even – oh, what's the use?" Bulma growled. "Fine! I'll fix it this one time, but if he thinks I'm going to run and jump to all of his snotty, arrogant little demands, I'll show him that nobody messes with me and gets away with it!"

Bulma's footsteps left the doorway in the same manner as they had approached it. For a second, Doctor Briefs glanced over his shoulder. Perhaps he ought to say something.

"How bad could the repairs be, anyway?" he called. "I'm sure that it's nothing that a little bit of tinkering won't fix!"

He thought he heard another frustrated growl in the distance, although he couldn't be sure. Not that it mattered – oh, there was the screwdriver. Sitting right behind his feet. Now, how had it gotten there? Ah, well.

He gave Scratch a little pat on the head, and returned to work. Scratch offered him a self-satisfied meow, then curled back into her ball to return to her nap.


End file.
